
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

SheifjW^.'::/, 



UNITED STATES or AMERICA. 



THE 



Cross of Monterey 



AND OTHER POEMS 



Richard ^dward White. 



San Francisco: 
the california publishing com! 

No. 408 California Street, 
1882. 



G£P 2 i8B2 1 






COPYRIGHT, 1882, BY 

THE CALIFORNIA PUBLISHING COMPANY. 



All rights reserved. 



TORRAS &. FREEMAN, PRINTERS. 



CONTENTS 



Page. 

By the Cross of Monterey, - 5 

The Midnight Mass, 8 

Waiting for the Galleon, - - - - - - - ^3' 

Discovery of San Francisco Bay, 24 

The Home on the Plain, - - - - - - - 30 

The Old Forty-Niner, 34 

Virginia City, 36 

III St. Mai7's Hospital, - - 39 

Chemise Joe, 41 

Cacheville, 44 

Off Santa Barbara, -----...47 

Junipero Serra, 50 

Mining, 51 

San Francisco, ^2 

The Old Sad Strain, 53 

The Pawnbroker's Shop, .-..-- 5^ 

A Song in the Play, 58 

The Suppliant, 61 



4 CONTENTS. 

% Page 

Down the Lane, - - - - - - - - 65 

Recess, - - - - - - - - - 68 

Children's Hymn, - - 70 

Chinamphas, - - - 72 

The Mother's Prayer, - - - - - - - 74 

The Masterpiece of Brother Felix, - - - - 77 

In War Time, - - - - 84 

The Mirage, - - - - - . - - - ■ 87 

The Poet, - - - - - - - - - 8S 

Duty, ---.-,-.-- 89 



BY THE CROSS OF MONTEREY. 

Good Junipero the Padre, 

When 'twas dying of the da)', 
Sat beneath the dark tall pine-trees 

By the Cross of Monterey, 
Listening as the simple red men 

Of their joys and sorrows told, 
And their stories of the Missions, 

And their legends quaint and old. 

And they told him when Portala 

Rested by the crescent bay. 
Little dreaming he was gazing 

On the wished-for Monterey, 
That this cross on shore he planted 

And the ground about it blessed. 
And then he and his companions 

Journeyed northward on Lheir quest. 



BY THE CROSS OF MONTEREY. 

And the Indians told the Padre 

That Portala's cross at night, 
Gleaming with a wondrous splendor, 

Than the noon-sun was more bright, 
And its mighty arms extended 

East and westward, O so far ! 
And its topmost point seemed resting 

Northward on the polar star. 

And they told, when fear had vanished, 

How they gathered all around, 
And their spears and arrows buried 

In the consecrated ground ; 
x\nd they brought most fragrant blossoms, 

And rare ocean-shells in strings, 
And they hung upon the cross-arms 

All their choicest offerings. 

And the Padre told the Indians : 

" Ah, if rightly understood, 
What you tell me of the cross here 
Has a meaning deep and good. 



BY THE CROSS OF MONTEREY. 

For that light is emblematic 
That the time is near at hand 

When the faith of Christ the Savior 
Will illumine all the land. 

" To the Cross ding, O my children 1 

In the storm and in the night, 
When you wander, lost and weary, 

It will be a guiding light ; • 
Cling to it, and cares and sorrows 

Very soon will all have passed. 
And the palm and crown of glory 

Will be given you at last." 

Good Junipero the Padre 

Thus unto the red men told 
Of the emblem of salvation 

And its story SAveet and old, 
Sitting by the crescent bay-side, 

When 'twas dying of the day. 
At the foot of dark tall pine-trees, 

By the Cross of Monterey. 



THE MIDNIGHT MASS. 

Of the mission church San Carlos, 

Builded by Carmelo's Bay, 
There remains an ivied ruin 

That is crumbling fast away. 
In its tower the owls find shelter, 

In its sanctuary grow 
Rankest weeds above the earth-mound:, 

And the dead find rest below. 

Still, by peasants at Carmelo, 

Tales are told and songs are sung 
Of Junipero the Padre 

In the sweet Castilian tongue : 
Telling how each year he rises 

From his grave the mass to say. 
In the midnight, mid the ruins, 

On the eve of Carlos' day. 



THE AIIDNIGHT MASS. 

And they tell when, aged and feeble, 
Feeling that his end was nigh, 

To the Mission of San Carlos 
Padre Serra came to die; 

And he lay upon a litter 

That Franciscan friars bore, 

And he bade them rest a moment 
At the cloister's open door. 

Then he gazed upon the landscape 

That in beauty lay unrolled, 
And he blessed the land as Francis 

Blessed Asisi's town of old ; 
And he spoke : "A hundred masses 

I will sing, if still life's guest. 
That the blessing I have given 

On the land may ever rest." 

Ere a mass was celebrated 
Good Junipero had died, 

And they laid him in the chancel. 
On the altar's gospel side. 



THE MIDNIGHT MASS. 

But each year the Padre rises 

From his grave the mass to say, 

In the midnight, mid the ruins, 
On the eve of Carlos' day. 

Then the sad souls, long years buried, 

From their lowly graves arise, 
And, as if doom's trump had sounded. 

Each assumes his mortal guise : 
And they come from San Juan's Mission, 

From St. Francis by the bay. 
From the Mission San Diego, 

And the Mission San Jose. 

With their gaudy painted banners, 

And their flambeaux burning bright. 
In a long procession come they 

Through the darkness and the night ; 
Singing hymns and swinging censers, 

Dead folks' ghosts — they onward pass 
To the ivy-covered ruins. 

To be present at the mass. 



THE MIDNIGHT MASS. 

And the grandsire, and the grandame, 

And their children march along, 
And they know not one another 

In that weird, unearthly throng. 
And the youth and gentle maiden, 

They who loved in days of yore, 
Walk together now as strangers, 

For the dead love nevermore. 

In the church now all are gathered, 
And not long have they to wait ; 

From his grave the Padre rises, 
Midnight mass to celebrate. 

First he blesses all assembled. 
Soldiers, Indians, acolytes ; 

Then he bows before the altar, 
And begins the mystic rites. 

When the Padre sings the sanctus, 
And the Host is raised on high, 

Then the bells up in the belfry. 
Swung by spirits, make reply; 



THE MIDNIGHT MASS. 

And the drums roll, and the soldiers 

In the air a volley fire, 
While the sahUaris rises 

Grandly from the phantom- choir. 

" Ite, misa est,'' is spoken 

At the dawning of the day, 
And the pageant strangely passes 

From the ruins sere and gray; 
And Junipero the Padre 

Lying down, resumes his sleep, 
And the tar-weeds, rank and noisome, 

O'er his grave luxuriant creep. 

And the lights upon the altar 

And the torches cease to burn. 
And the vestments and the banners 

Into dust and ashes turn ; 
And the ghostly congregation 

Cross^ themselves, and, one by one, 
Into thin air swiftly vanish, 

And the midnia;ht mass is done. 



WAITING FOR THE GALLEON. 

Good Junipero the Padre 

With Portala stood one day 
By t/he church at San Diego, 

Gazing o'er the tranquil bay 
To the mystic Hne where ocean 

And the sky were linked in one, 
Waiting for a sign or token 

Of an absent galleon. 

This same galleon departed 

For San Bias three months before, 
To return with food and raiment. 

For fast dwindling was their store ; 
And yet, since the time she vanished 

From the dim horizon's line, 
To the Mission San Diego 

Came no token or no si^n. 



r4 WAITING FOR THE GALLEON. 

Then spoke Governor Portala : 
"Padre Serra, since the day 
That the galleon departed 

Full three months have passed away; 
Now the only safety left us, 

Since our store is running low, 
Is to leave this barren Mission, 

And march back to Mexico." 

Serra stood awhile in silence, 

And his eyes welled up with tears ; 
In that moment seemed to vanish 

All the toil and hope of years. 
Then he answered thus : " Portala, 

You may go, but I remain ; 
For I know that Heaven will bring us 

Back the galleon again. 

"But I beg of you, still longer 

Your march southward to delay ; 
Stay at San Diego's Mission 

Till at least St. Joseph's day." 



WAITING FOR THE GALLEON. 

Then the Governor made answer : 

"As you wish it, be it so; 
If she come not on the feast-day, 
I march back to Mexico." 

Then the Padre and the soldier 

Stood and watched, day after day, 
By the church at San Diego, 

Gazing o'er the tranquil bay — 
To the mystic line where ocean 

And the sky were linked ia one, 
Waiting for a sign or token 

Of the absent galleon. 

' Twas at last Saint Joseph's feast-day, 

And Portala, as he passed 
From Presidio to Mission, 

To the sea a long look cast; 
Cloudless, clear, and calm the sky was, 

And he smiled, as well he might — 
For the ocean lay all tranquil, 

And there was no sail in sight. 



WAITING FOR THE GALLEON. 

At the church, the mass is finished, 

Tears and prayers do not avail; 
Heaven has sent no sign nor token, 

In the offing is no sail ; 
And the little congregation 

On their several ways have gone, 
And before the humble altar 

Padre Serra kneels alone. 

Thus he prays : "Though all desert me 

I will stay, whate'er may come ; 
Be it fire, or sword, or famine, 

Tears, or pain, or martyrdom. 
In my every act, O Father ! 

I v/ould seek Thy guidance still. 
If I fail to do Thy bidding, 

'Tis I misconstrue Thy will, 

" And am like the weary sailor. 

When the landmarks all are hid. 

And the lights on shore that guided, 

Night, and fogs, and mists amid, 



WAITING FOR THE GALLEON. 

Seeking still to make the haven, 
And, all anxious though he be 

To reach home, and love, and shelter, 
Wanders farther out to sea. 

" Let me journey not in darkness, 

Show a light, O Father mine! 
Stretch Thy guiding hand still earthward, 

Give my doubting heart a sign ; 
Grant that p'-ayers, and toil, and watching 

May not all have been in vain; 
If it be but for a moment 

Bring the galleon again." 

As Junipero the Padre 

By the altar bended low, 
Suddenly a cannon thundered 

From the near Presidio ; 
Then " A sail ! a sail !" was echoed 

By the watchers on the shore. 
And a ringing cheer of welcome 

Hailed the galleon once more. 



WAITING FOR THE GALLEON. 

From the church-door gazed the Padre, 

And lo ! in the noonday sun, 
He beheld, on far horizon, 

The long-wished-for galleon ; 
From her peak the red-cross floating, 

With her colors bright and gay. 
And her white sail broadly swelling, 

As if making for the bay. 

While the Indians gazed with wonder, 

And the Spaniards cheered or wept, 
And the Padre knelt, thanks giving, 

Still the galleon onward kept. 
But the mists rose from the ocean, 

While they wept, or prayed, or cheered. 
Hiding from their view the vessel. 

So she strangely disappeared. 

Then the Padre Serra, rising, 

Pointed to the mystic line, 
And addressed the wondering gazers : 
" Children, saw ye not the sign ? 



WAITING FOR THE GALLEON. ig 

Yet the galleon it was not, 

It was but a thing of air, 
Penciled on the sky by angels. 

As an answer to our prayer." 

Then he spoke unto Portala : 
" Do you still intend to go 
And desert our struggling Mission ? " 

And the Governor said, " No ; 
Though my troops now all are ready 

For the march, yet I obey 
The command sent down from heaven, 
. And here with you I will stay." 

Then the Padre and Portala 

Stood and watched, day after day. 
By the church at San Diego, 

Gazing o'er the tranquil bay ; 
Till the third day had passed over, 

When there suddenly appeared 
The good galleon, long wished-for. 

And now straight to land she steered. 



20 WAITING FOR THE GALLEON. 

Hours and hours her course still holding, 

Scarce a breeze her sail to swell, 
From the dawning, through the noon-time, 

Till the shades of evening fell ; 
Then the San Antonio^ laden 

With supplies, in safety lay, 
By the Mission San Diego, 

Anchored in the tranquil bay. 

Then told Don Juan Perez, Captain 

Of the San Antonio : 
"From the ocean rose this mission 

In the noon three days ago ; 
Yet, though wind filled up our broad sail. 

When we tried to reach the land 
Something seemed to intercept us 

That we could not understand. 

"But'we -steered with broad sail s\velling 
For the tranquil bay, when lo ! 
The adobe white-walled Mission 
And the gray Presidio ; 



WAITING FOR THE GALLEON. 

And the soldiers, Spaniards, Indians, 
And the green and pleasant land, 

Faded like mirage, or day-dream — 
And we could .not understand. 

"Then we feared, by fogs surrounded, 

Still to hug a dangerous coast j 
So we drifted out to ocean. 

All our course and reckoning lost ; 
And for three long days we drifted, 

While we thought that nevermore 
We should see the white-walled Mission, 

And our laved .ones on the shore. 

" On the third day passed the fog-mist. 

And the sun gleamed bright and clear, 
And the wind filled up our broad sail. 

And we knew no longer fear; 
And we floated on a current. 

Swift as swallow in its flight. 
Till the Mission San Diego 

Rose again upon our sight." 



WAITING FOR THE GALLEON. 

Tnus the Captain, Don Juan Perez, 

Told about his long delay 
•While the San A7iiomo, anchored, 

Lay in San Diego Bay, 
And said Serra : " God has surely 

Brought this galleon again, 
As a sign that at this Mission 

'Tis His will we should remain." 

By the Bay of San Diego, 

Still the aged Spaniards tell 
How the vessel on the feast-day 

Was shown by a miracle ; 
How the California missions 

Were preserved by God's command, 
And the Sa7i Antonio., laden 

With supplies came back to land ; 

How each year, at San Diego, 
As a proof of this true tale. 

On the feast-day of Saint Joseph 
There is seen a phantom sail 



IVAlTlHG FOR THE GALLEON. 23 

On the dim line of horizon 

As the sail was seen of old — 
But the gossips hint those only 

Who are pure of heart behold. 



DISCOVERY OF SAN FRANCISCO BAY. 

Good Junipero the Padre 

Slowly read the King's commands, 
In relation to the missions 

To be built in heathen lands. 
And he said: "The good Saint Francis 

Surely has some little claim, 
Yet I find that here no mission 

Is assigned unto his name." 

Then the Visitador answered; 

" If the holy Francis care 
For a mission to his honor 

Surely he will lead you there ; 
And it may be by the harbor 

That the Indian legends say 
Lies by greenest hills surrounded 

To the north of Monterey." 



DISCOVERY OF SAN FRANCISCO BAY. 

Spoke Junipero the Padre ; 
" It is not for me to tell 
Of the truth of Indian legends, 

Yet of this I know full well — 
If there be such hidden harbor, 

And our hope and trust we place 
In the care of good Saint Francis, 

He will guide us to the place." 

Soon, the Governor Portala 

Started northward, on his way 
Overland, to rediscover 

The lost port of Monterey. 
Since the time within its waters 

Viscaino anchor cast, 
Jt remained unknown to Spaniards, 

Though a century had passed. 

On his journey went Portala 

With his band of pioneers, 
Padres, Indian guides, and soldiers, 

And a train of muleteers : 



DISCOVERY OF SAN FRANCISCO BAY. 

And said Serra, as he blessed them, 

As he wished them all Godspeed : 
"Trust Saint Francis — he will guide you 
In your direst hour of need." 

On his journey went Portala 

Till he reached the crescent bay, 
But he dreamed not he was gazing 

On the wished-for Monterey. 
So a cross on shore he planted, 

And the ground about he blessed, 
And then he and his companions 

Northward went upon their quest, 

On his journey went Portala 

And his army northward on, 
And methinks I see them marching, 

Or in camp when day was done ; 
Qr at nighl when stars were twinkling, 

As that travel-weary band 
By the log-fire's light would gather, 

Telling of their far-off land. 



DISCOVERY OF SAN FRANCISCO BAY. 27 

And they told weird Indian legends, 

Tales of Cortes, too, they told, 
And of peaceful reign of Incas, 

And of Montezuma's gold ; 
And they sang, as weary exiles 

Sing of home and vanished years, 
Sweet, heart-treasured songs that always 

Bring the dumb applause of tears. 

When the day was sunk in ocean. 

And the land around was dim, 
On the tranquil air of midnight 

Rose the sweet Franciscan hymn ; 
And when bugle told the dav/ning. 

And the matin prayers v/crc done. 
On his journey \vent Portala 

And his army northward on. 

Far awny they sa\v sierras, ♦ 

Clothed with an eternal spring, 
While at times the mighty ocean 

In their path her spray would fiing ; 



28 DISCOVERY OF SAN FRANCISCO BAY. 

On amid such scenes they journeyed, 
Through the dreary wastes of sand, 

Through ravines dark, deep, and narrow, 
And through canons wild and grand. 

And with what a thrill of pleasure, 

All their toils and dangers through, 
Gazed they on this scene of beauty 

When it burst upon their view, 
As Portala and his army, 

Standing where I stand to-day, 
Saw before them spread in beauty 

Green-clad hills and noble bay. 

Then the Governor Portala 

Broke the spell of silence thus : 
"To this place through Padre Serra 

Hath Saint Francis guided us, 
So the bay and all around it 

For the Spanish King I claim. 
And forever, in the future, 

Let it bear Saint Francis' name " • 



DISCOVERY OF SAN FRANCISCO BAY. 29 

Thus he spoke — and I am standing 

On the self-same spot to-day, 
And my eyes rest on the landscape, 

And the green hills, and the bay, 
And upon Saint Francis' city, 

As, with youth and hope elate, 
She is gazing toward the ocean. 

Sitting by the Golden Gate. 

Needless were such gifts as heaven 

Gave to holy seers of yore, 
To foretell the meed of glory, 

Fairest town, for thee in store ! 
To foretell the seat of empire 

Here will be, nor far the day, 
Where Balboa's sea doth mingle 

With the waters of thy bay ! 



THE HOME ON THE PLAIN. 

Bright angels, guarding o'er the land, 
Were looking down from heaven afar; 

Each held a lantern in his hand, 

The light of which men call a star. 

And o'er the plain, as night came on, 
Two weary pilgrims held their way ; 

They came from Mission of San Juan, 
And sought the Mission Monterey. 

Spoke Padre Serra: "Brother, here 
Must we one night at least remain ; 

So gratefully and without fear 
Let us repose upon the plain."" 

As on the groimd knelt down the two, 
A light amid the darkness shone ; 



THE HOME ON THE PLAIN. 

And suddenly upon their view 

A house appeared, some distance on. 

Said Paiou : " Surely food and rest 
The Devil brings us now to tempt ; 

My flesh is weak, and from such test 
I'd rather wish to be exempt." 

But vanished soon all fear away, 

For by the door an old man stood, 

Who welcomed them and bade them stay 
And share his humble roof and food. 

They entered ; everything was neat, 

A lady fair and lovely boy 
Received them ; 'twas a home complete, 

Where all was love, and peace, and joy. 

That night the pilgrims rested there, 
And soon as came the dawn of day, 

Thanking their hosts for rest and fare, 
They went rejoicing on their way. 



2,2 THE HOME ON THE PLAIN. 

Soon met they with a muleteer, 

Who said : " So far from men's abode 

I wonder much to meet ye here ; 
How fare ye on this desert road?" 

"Some two miles hence last night we staid."- 
Then wondered more the muleteer : 

" Some error surely you have made — 
No house for sixty miles is near. 

" So if two miles from this last night 

You staid and met with kindly fare, 
And slept in peace till morning's light, 
'Twas God who entertained you there." 

"Why, still in sight the house must lie," 
The Padre said; but lo ! 'twas gone; 
And as they gazed in azure sky, 

The morning star in beauty shone. 

Spoke after pause, the Padre thus : 
" Slowly the truth has come to me ; 



THE HOME OAt THE PL AW. 33 

Bright angels ministered to us, 
And very blessed were the three; 

" By spirit hands was built that house, 

And the old man whom we saw there 
Was Joseph, the good Virgin's spouse, 
And Mary was the lady fair. 

" And well I know the youth was he. 
The meek and lowly Nazarene, 
Who died for us on- Calvary, 

The thief and penitent between." 



THE OLD FORTY-NINER. 

'Another pioneer is gone." 

The Alia California said ; 
And still the heedless world wagged on, 
Nor paused when one so great was dead. 



At night he sat beside the stove, 

And while he puffed a steady blast, 

His wandering nicmory would rove 
To some strange stories of the past. 

And we would gather round to hear 
The old man tell of by-gone days, 

Of miner's camp and rugged cheer, 
And early comers' reckless ways. 

His great forte was in argument— 
Not that he logic understood, 



THE OLD FORTY-NINER. 35 

But facts he could with ease invent; 
Likewise his lungs were very good. 

He argued with the greatest zest, 

■'Twas difficult to put him out; 
And strange to say, he talked the best 

Of v.'hat he knew the least about. 

When one a stubborn fact would bring, 

He thus would say : " Young friend of mine, 

You cannot tell me anything, 

For I've been here since forty-nine." 

He told us once of dreadful ride, 

By red men tracked through tule grass ; 

And ho\y, when all seemed safe, there died, 
By random shot, his Indian lass. 

" I raised her up, but she was dead; 

My own dear wife — ah ! cruel fates ! " 
We pitied him, but then he said : 
" My other wife is in the States." 



VIRGINIA CITY. 

The greatest mining town the world all over, 
Far back as 'fifty-nine its history goes ; 

A rich lead then did Comstock here discover, 
And from his camp Virginia City rose. 

Perched on the steep hill-side, one may well wonder 
What is it keeps the place from tumbling down j 

Five thousand rnen being its foundations under, 
Tearing away all that supports the town. 

Thus sometimes eartli will open and will swallow 
Some structure, masterpiece of mason's craft, 

So rapidly that eye doth vainly follow. 

As it goes thundering down a mining-shaft. 

I hold that he, v»'ho in the mines doth l?bor, 
Becomes inhuman in his thirst for gold ; 



VIRGINIA CITY. 37 

Love, faith, and joy have never more the savor 
For him that they were wont to have of old. 

The bed-rock's cold, inhospitable nature 
He doth absorb ; it grows of him a part ; 

Though outwardly a man in form and stature, 
A piece of rock within beats for a heart. 

And yet his trade is dangerous and trying ; 

The wall caves in, untimed goes off the blast. 
Gases explode, and soon "on top" is flying 

The stars and stripes, but half-way up the mast. 

The youth and maiden in their moonlight ramble, 
Of Savage, Crown Point, and of Belcher talk; 

For Cupid here with silver quartz doth gamble, 
And lovers all in mining-claims have stock. 

Yes, each one's hope is upon stocks relying; 

They sweeten or add gall to every cup ; 
The i^reacher whispers to the Christian dying : 
" Depart in peace, for stocks are looking up." 



38 VIRGINIA CITY. 

That all are bad, you would be wrong in deeming ; 

Some noble hearts doth still Virginia hold, 
Like her own quartz, which though rough and un- 
seeming, 

Has in it still veins of the purest gold. 



IN ST. MARY'S HOSPITAL. 

"Say, Sister Augustine, for you 

The long, long night have watch been keeping, 
Did any one this ward pass through, 

And bend o'er me as I lay sleeping?" 

Replied the Sister : " No one came 
Into this ward ; but you were raving, 

And frequently named a mother's name 
While I your fevered brow was laving." 

"She came not ! then it was -a dream, 

And yet I thought o'er me she bended. 
And songs of love and home did seem 

Like perfume with her presence blended. 

"She told me how she watched and wept, 

While I o'er half the world was roaming ; 



40 IN ST. MARY'S HOSPITAL 

How by the fire a chair was kept 

Each night, expectant of my coming. 

" How the old house seemed lone and drear ; 
When all was joy how still she missed me. 
I cried : ' Forgive me, mother dear ! ' 

And bending, on my brow she kissed me. 

" * Forgive me that I did resign 

Home with its love and tranquil pleasure. 
To toil long years in camp and mine. 

In feverish quest of gold and treasure !' 

" Again she kissed my fe veiled brow. 
The fever with her kiss departed ; 
You see I have no fever now, 

New life through all my frame has started. " 

O, mother's love ! O, wondrous power ! 

Thy memory is balm supplying 
To soothe v.'ith dreams the latest hour 

Of stranger in a far land dying. 



CHEMISE JOE. 

Above our heads the noonday sun was standing, 
Blasting the tule with its scorching heat ; 

Before us was the Httle town, Knight's Landing, 
The Sacramento rippling at its feet. 

A something seemed to hide at our approaching — 
The driver slacked his speed, and pointing low, 

Said : *' Yonder, 'mid the underbrush, is crouching 
The wild man of Colusa, 'Chemise Joe.'" 

" And who is he ? " quoth I. Dale Houx made answer ; 
" You must be strange in these parts not to know — 
Why, all the State has heard about that man, sir; 
They call him 'Chaparral' or 'Chemise Joe.' 

" His only roof is the broad arch of heaven ; 
He never wearies of his solitude, 



42 CHEMISE JOE. 

And only when by pangs of hunger driven 

He seeks someshepherd'a hut, and begs for food." 

I asked: "Why shuns he thus man's happy dweUing 

To Uve in misery and care alone?" 
Dale Houx replied: "Indeed, there is no telling — 

Perhaps he has- some reason of his own." 

Said I: "Perhaps he seeks, by prayer and fasting, 

The expiation of unshriven sins." 
The driver spoke, on me a keen eye casting : 
"It may have been, sir, that his wife had twins." 

Then I : " Perhaps in rage he struck a brother. 
Or missed a fortune by some legal flaw, 

Or in his early childhood lost a mother." 

Said Houx : " Perhaps he found a mother-in-law." 

"Perhaps his heart, with some sweet face delighted. 
Its tendrils tangled amid golden locks. 
To find at last its love was not requited." 

Said Houx: "Perhaps he busted up in stocks." 



CHEMISE JOE. 43 

Said I : "Perhaps the friendship tnat he trusted 
When came misfortune's hour was found to fail." 

Said Houx: "It may have been he up and dusted, 
Leaving behind his bondsmen for his bail." 

" Perhaps," said I, " unto the god Apollo 

He tunes his lyre — one of the poet craft." 
Said Houx: " It somehow seems to me to follow 
A poet always is a little daft." 

Perceiving that the driver only needed 
A word of mine to give his fancy play, 

I did not make reply, so we proceeded 
In silence on our long and sultry way. 

And when we reached the town, our journey's ending, 
Said I : "You must be thirsty — let us drink." 

The driver, from his seat with speed descending. 
Grasping my hand, and with a merry wink. 

Made answer thus : "Why, you are talking reason. 

I do not drink ; but, seeing it is you, 
And irrigation's right in this dry season, 

Well, stranger, now I don't mind if I do." 



CACHEVILLE. 

Far in the Sacramento Valley, down 
Amid the lands in tule, is Cacheville ; 

But did they call it Chills-iind Fever Town, 
1 think 'twere better still. 

And for the stream, so sickly and so small. 
That flows near by, apt title did they seek, 

It, for variety's sake, they might call 
By name of Dead-Man's Creek. 

No season respite here for plague dotli bring — 
The very cats and dogs with ague die, 

And birds that o'er the town their passage wing 
Go trembling through the sky. 

Through its malarious streets its people wend, 
With.fev€r flushed, or shivering with the chills. 



CACHEVILLE. 45 

And as one offers -snuff unto a friend 
They offer ague pills. 

Or silently they sit, with care cast down, 

Beside the fire, who once were glad and brave, 

For every hearthstone in this wretched town 
Is tomb above a grave. 

There is a school-house ; but the merry sound 
Of play and laughter it can little know, 

For close beside it is the burial-ground, 
x\nd there the children go. 

This grave-yard is much larger than the town, 
And strangers smile to read upon the stones 

The name significant of Arsenic Brown, 
Or that of Quinine Jones. 

I think the trade of coffin-maker here, 

Or that of undertaker, well must pay- 
There is a babe born about once a year, 
A man dies every day. 



CACHEVILLE. 

If it should ever 'chance that you be down, 

My friend, close by the place of which I speak, 

Then do not visit Chills-and-Fever Town, 
And shun the Dead-Man's Creek. 



OFF SANTA BARBARA. 

Off Santa Barbara at break of da) 

Our steamer lay, 
While I more southward, for San Pedro bound, 

Was sleeping sound, 
Unconscious that the scene more lovely seemed 
Than fairest fancy ever poet dreamed. 

A little bright-eyed child, with golden hair, 

Ah, passing fair ! 
Into my state-room almost noiseless crept, 

While still I slept. 
And coming to my bed, no word she spoke, 
But bending downward kissed me and I woke. 

"Why, what can be the matter now?" I said. 
With downcast head 
She tried to speak, but knew not what to say, 
Then rushed away; 



OFF SANTA BARBARA. 

I came on deck, but she had gone on shore, 
And so her pretty face I saw no more. 

Crov/ned with green hills, an almost Aiden land 

Lay on one hand, 
While on the other, in immensity, 

Balboa's sea 
Was stretching far as eye could reach away, 
With gulls upon its throbbing breast at play. 

The Mission church do I remember still 

Upon the hill; 
And fancy, while the bells sung matin chimes 

Strayed to old times, 
Until I seemed to hear good Serra say : 
"Oh, gentiles, come to holy church and pray." 

The air ^va.s fragrmt ■rrith the rich perfume 

Of orange bloom. 
The giant trees with fruit were laden down, 

Quaint looked the town. 



OFP SANTA BARBARA. 4^ 

Whose folk, with joy's o'erflowing measure blest, 
Could each beneath his vine and £g-tree rest. 

O, Santa Barbara, the beautiful ! 

Though time may dull 
The glowing pictures that remain of thee 

In memory, 
Still in my heart her little face I keep, 
As, o'er me bent, she kissed me from my sleep. 



JUNIPERO SERRA. 

Within the ruined church at Carmel's bay, 

Beside the altar, with rank weeds o'ergrown, 
There is a grave unmarked with slab or stone, 

Where lies one who, lost sight of in our day. 

Yet bides his time ; and when have passed away 
Our would-be heroes, he will then be known. 
And glory's heritage at last will own. 

His title to which no one will gainsay. 

When life was nearing to an end, 'twas here, 
Seeking repose, the Padre Serra came ; 

Of our fair land he was the pioneer : 

And if the good alone were known to fame, 

Within our hearts his memory would be dear, 
x'Vnd on our lips a household word his name. 



MINING. 

The shaft some thousand fathoms I descended, 

To where stout miners worked 'mid endless night, 
The walls reflected back my taper's light 

As through these catacombs of gold I wended, 

I saw the rocks from v/here God placed them rended 
By patient stroke of pick and muscle's might, 
And then I saw the metal fair and bright 

Cleared of the dross with which 'twas whilom blended. 

I said, while watching them the quartz refine, 
The poet with these toilers is akin ; 
Although a different meed he seeks to win, 

Yet he, instructed by a power divine, 

Selects from thoughts ignoble, mean, and poor. 
The golden ones that ever must endure. 



SAN FRANCISCO. 

Though night has come upon the hills, I stay, 

And my eyes, resting in their downward glances. 
Fall on the fair young city of Saint Francis — 

The dim Sierra fading fast away, 

The fleet of anchored ships, the noble bay 

Upon v/hose rippling waves the moonlight dances, 
And Golden Gate through which the fog advances 

That will soon hide the scene with cowl of gray. 

O City v/atching by Balboa's sea ! 

Thine is the future, and sure faith I hold 
When greed of gain and lawlessness are past, 

Thou wilt have brighter days, for thou wilt be 
A home of science, art, and song at last, 
As Rome and Athens were in days of old. 



THE OLD SAD STRAIN. 

When the weary, home-bound sailor 

Is dinging aloft to the shroud, 
He heeds not the rising gale or 

The breakers roaring loud ; 
For his thoughts their flight go winging 

Across the storm-tossed main, 
And he hears sweet voices singing 

In his home the old sad strain. 



And when the exiles assemble 

At night round the roaring blaze, 
The voices grow husky and tremble 

That tell of the vanished days ; 
And while they speak, there doth glisten 

In each one's eye a tear, 
Not alone to the tales they listen, 

For the old sad strain they hear. 



54 THE OLD SAD STRAIN. 

Beside the fire I am staying, 

Though the night be on the wane, 
For spirit hands are playing 

In my heart the old sad strain. 
Though sad it is, yet such is 

The sweetness of every note. 
As if by angels' touches 

The chords of life were smote. 

The strain shall never be gayer, 

But always with sadness be blent, 
Till the time the Master-player 

Shall take up the instrument ; 
And at the touch of his fingers 

A happier strain will start. 
Than the old sad one that lingers 

Within this weary heart. 



THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOR 

In my walks through the city I frequently stop 

To examine the wares in the pawnbroker's shop, 

For each article here has a story to tell 

Unto all who interpret its voicelessness well. 

These were emblems of friendship and truth long ago, 

But their presence here sorrow and misery show, 

For they tell of estrangements and fond ones grown 

cold — 
Once the pledges of love, now the pledges of gold. 

Let us enter awhile : lady fair, do not fear. 

The great ones of earth in their time have been here; 

Here have come youth and maid, and the old and the 

gray; 
Here the peer and the pauper have elbowed their way ; 
The exchequers of kings from such shops have been 

drawn, 
And the jewels of queens have been given in pawn. 



56 THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. 

Then enter, and if for awhile you will stop, 

I will tell of the wares in the pawnbroker's shop. 

Here's a little gold cross; 'twas a tremulous hand 
Placed it round her boy's neck ere he left the old land. 
Though that good mother prayed 'twould a talisman 

be 
To the youth in his new home beyond the great sea. 
Though he clung to it fondly for many a year, 
For a dollar or two he at last sold it here ; 
Yet the treasures of earth v/ere the veriest dross 
A\'hen compared to the value he placed on this cross. 

Here's- a locket of hair, once'a bright sunny curl. 
It was shorn from her locks by a beautiful girl, 
And she gave it to him whom as life she held dear, 
^^"hile he whispered a tale of fond love in her ear ; 
Her life's blood that girl would have given to prove 
The strength, and devotion, and depth of her love. 
Was love true to the last, till the warm heart grew cold. 
Or like this, its dear gift, was it bartered for gold? 



THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. 57 

Here's a gold wedding-ring; many years must liave 

gone 
Since two knelt in the church, and with this were made 

one. 
O, who would not envy the bride in that hour, 
With everything earth could bestow for a dower ! 
As the groom on her fair finger placed this gold ring, 
Ah, little he thought time such changes could bring 
As that here she should come, youth and beauty all 

fled, 
And her wedding-ring pawn to get money for bread. 

But enough I have sung, and though sad be my lay, 
Yet a much sadder theme you may find any day, 
When poverty made them these love -tokens sell ; 
What matter if honor were not sold as well ! 
If you go through the town you will daily behold 
Both m.anhood and maidenhood bartered for gold, 
And these, till time's ending, forever will stop 
Unredeemed, if once brought to the pawnbroker's 
shop. 



A SONG IN THE PLAY. 

It was a gala-night in truth, 

The master's play was on : 
O'er beauty, v/ealth, and wit, and youth, 

A brilliant halo shone. 

A very queen the chief part played, 
With such a studied grace. 

The meaning of each word was weighed 
Each tone, and glance of face. 

A song 's sung by the heroine, 

But as this tragic dame 
Sung not, to take her place, a thin 

And frightened girl there came. 

A girl in faded muslin dress 

Stood scared and trembling there, 



A SO JVC IN THE PLAY. 59 

Without an ornament, unless 
A flower twined in her hair : 

While fearful that the song inight fail, 

There stood revealed to all, 
Beside the wing, a mother pale, 

With her daughter's tattered shawl. 

The poor girl sang quite tendejly — 

Hers was no trick of art, 
Its soft sweet tones appeared to be 

Up-welling from the heart. 

A simple song, and yet it seemed 

The hearts of all to stir. 
And rough men hid their eyes and dreamed 

Of happy times that were. 

Ah, yes ! and when the song was done, 

Sobs mingled with their cheers ; 
The sweetest singer is the one 

That moves us most to tears. 



6o A. SONG IN THE PLAY. 

She bowed, and to her cheek there came 
A blush that made her fair — 

A bright, warm blush, that put to shame 
The rouge and powder there. 

And sweeter than before she sung 

The same sad, simple lay; 
While with applause the whole house rung. 

The poor girl swooned away. 

Not over-pleased the tragic queen 

Again came on the stage ; 
Her studied walk and somber mien 

Did now small thought engage ; 

Or, seemed but clearer to recall 

To that excited throng 
The mother with the tattered shawl, 

The poor girl's touching song. 



THE SUPPLIANT. 

Four spirits, late of earth, once stood beside 
The gate of Paradise and entrance sought ; 
To them the Guardian Angel thus replied : 
" None enter here save those who good have wrought." 

Then each of them in turn his merits said ; 
The first: ''I stood before the grave of Time, 
And, like a Savior, cited forth the dead 
To rise and live forever in my rhyme." 

Another, thus: "A sculptor I, and such 

The beauty was that I to stone did give, 

My statues wanted but a single touch 

Of God's right hand to make them breathe and live." 

The third: "I rivaled nature with my dyes; 
And to the sad earth, in its darkest hours, 



62 THE SUPPLIANT. 

My pencil bronght again the summer skies, 

The laughing brooks, the verdure and the flowers, " 

They entered; but ^vitho^It still lingered one, 
To whom thus spoke the Angel: "We would Ivuow 
Upon the earth what good deeds you have done.". 
" Alas ! " he answered, " I have none to show. 

" A Suppliant am I for entrance here ; 
But when in Mercy's God my hope I place, 
Like dead men's ghosts the sins of many a year 
Rise up in mockery before my face." 

The Angel : " Go ! there is no room for thee."" 
And as the Suppliant turned, in tears, away, 
The spirits, with one voice, imploringly 
Cried unto him : " Stay with us, brother, stay."" 

And then the spirits told how he had done 
Kind deeds on earth, and one spoke thus : " I fear 
If he unworthy be, no single one 
Of us is worthy of remaining here." 



THE SUPPLIANT. 63 

They told: "'I hungered, and he gave me meat;" 
" His draught of water did my thirst allay;" 
" I passed his happy home with weary feet, 

And he did follow me and bid me stay:" 

" Ill-clad was I ; he gave me clothes to wear;" 
" In lazar-house, when every friend did flee, 

He nursed me through a loathsome sickness there ;" 
" I was in prison and he came to me." 

The Angel spoke : " There is no room for thee." 
Then spirit fairer than the rest, did say : 
" Good x\ngel, out of charity to me, 
.\h, do not turn yon Suppliant away ; 

" But rather bid him stay, and I will give 
My place to him ; of right it is his own. 
And I will go back to the earth and live 
Far from my Makers face and His bright throne." 

To whom the Angel: " Sister, is the stain 
Of earthly love upon thy spirit still, 



64 THE SUPPLIANT. 

That thou" wouldst go back to the world again 
That he who loved thee might thy place here fill?" 

" I would not ask for him, were he the one — 
Repentant tears did all such love erase ; 
But every earthly feeling is not gone, 
Still in my heart has gratitude a place; 

"And he whom thou wouldst from thy bright gate 
spurn. 
Found me, one time, an outcast on the town ; 
He raised me up to God. 'Tis now my turn, 
And I will give to him my glory crown." 

Back of itself, upon its hinges swung 
The gate of pearl, e'en as the words were said, 
And while in joy the choir of spirits sung, 
^A'ithin the walls the Suppliant was led. 



DOWN THE LANE. 

The year was drawing to its end, 

The dusk was mingHng with the day, 

As I in dreamy mood did wend 
Adown the lane my lonely way. 

Like trellis-work across the sky, 

From either side rose arching trees, 

Whose boughs were swaying fitfully, 

Whose leaves were dangling in the breeze, 

Or as they fell upon the ground 
Were eddied into many a heap, 

Which rustling winds with mournful sound 
Did thinly o'er my pathway sweep. 

And as I went a drizzling rain. 

Across my face came slanting down, 



66 DOWN THE LANE. 

While passed me many a loaded wain 
And peasant hastening to the town. 

The dreariness that round me lay, 

The withered leaf tossed in the wind, 

The drip that plashed the miry way, 
Seemed kindred all unto my mind. 

But then I thought me : " This decay 

The germ doth bear of future bloom. 
Like those i(t\N grains of wheat that lay . 
• In hand of death in Egypt's tomb. 

" For though in rot resolves the leaf, 
The parching clay 'twill fertilize, 
And from it soon the harvest sheaf 
And fragrant blossoms will arise. 

"Ay, ay," methouglit, "there draweth nigh 
A merry time of bloom again, 
Of beauteous flowers, of tranquil sky, 
And unto me doth hope remain 



DOWN THE LANE. 

" That He who summer sun doth bring 
Who decks in grandeur every tree, 
Who bids again the wild bird sing, 
Has happy aays m store for me." 



RECESS. 

The little folks have now recess, 
In merry groups they play. 

Once I, whom sorrows now oppress, 
Was light of heart as they, 

As gay was I in years gone by, 
Though very sad to-day. 

I close the tome of ancient lore 

And rest it on my knee; 
Sweet voices and gay laughter more 

Of pleasure bring to me ; 
To me they bring youth's golden spring 

And joys that used to be. 

Life's summer-time is on the wane, 

Its fire is burning low; 
Winds sweep the hearth, and lo ! again 

The dying embers glow. 



RECESS. 69 

They glow, they blaze, and bygone days 
Come back from long ago. 

The weary book aside I fling, 

I stretch my arms apart, 
And youth and love on spirit wing 

Come fluttering to my heart. 
Ah, nestle there, ye happy pair, • 

And nevermore depart ! 



CHILDREN'S HYMN. 

Our hymn in praise of One shall be 

Who to the parents said, 
'• Let little ones come unto me, 

Of such my home is made;" 
Who, when we sleep, keeps ^vatching o'er, 

And brings such happy dreams, 
That earthly cares annoy no more, 

And heaven around us seems. 

Who knows e'en our most trivial need, 

Who knows the thought untold, 
And who Avill every kindly deed 

Repay a thousand-fold. 
Ah ! let us, then, his praises sing. 

And humbly ask that he. 
Through storm and night our barks may bring 

Unto the tranquil sea. 



CHILDREN'S HYMN. 71 

When all around is drear and dim, 

And we have gone astray, 
If we but lift our hands to him. 

He guides us on our way. 
Ah ! let us then our voices raise, 

And tell him of our love. 
And we will ever sing his praise 

In happiness above. 



CHINAMPHAS. 

It Cometh from the mountain steeps 
Afar off where the waters rise, 

And by the still lagoon it creeps, 
And down the rapid swiftly flies. 

It is a fair and flower-clad isle 

That seems as if by some device 

Its moorings to have slipped awhile 
And drifted down from Paradise. 

Trees round it, tall and beautiful, 

Shelter it from the burning noon; 
And dark-faced men the long oars pull, 
And sing loAv-toned some love-born tune. 

It brings down flowers to deck the shrine. 
Or o'er the bride's brow to be wove, 






CHINAMPHAS. 73 

Or for the stricken heart to twine 
Around the tomb of buried love. 

So unto me, aye, even while 

The current of my life shall flow, 

Will be a fair and flower-clad isle, • 
Like those fair isles of Mexico ! 

And still mid many a shifting scene. 
Where'er my wandering way be cast. 

That little isle will still be green, 

With pleasant memories of the past. 



THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

A winter's night— the wind was blowing wild 
Around a home where want and sorrow dwelt, 

And by the bedside of a dying child 

In tears and prayers a widowed mother knelt. 

And lo ! an angel bright stood by her side, 

To whom the mother : '' Wherefore do you 
come ? " 
And tenderly the shining one replied: 
" To take your darling to a happier home." 

The mother spoke: " 'Tis cruel and unkind 
To take my child and let me linger still." 

The angel : " Mother, if you were not blind. 

You would bov/ down in reverence to His will," 

The mother said, " Much sorrow I have seen; 
Filled to the brim with care and misery 



75 THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

My cup of life for many years has been; 
Then do not take my only joy from me." 

The angel answered : " If a mother's tears 
Might change the ruling of the God above, 

And if your son might live to manhood's years, 

No blessing, but a curse, the change would 
prove." 

" I care not what his lot in life may be," 

The mother sobbed, "but leave my little dear." 

" You care not," said the angel; "list to me. 

And from his life one passage you will hear : 

" Your son \yill woo a maiden fair and good. 

And win her from her home and country life. 
And she will barter truth and maidenhood 
To be to him his everything but wife. 

'■' And he will tire of the poor girl at last. 

And on a night like this, of storm and sleet, 
With baby in her arms she shall be cast 
Out of her home to perish in the street." 



76 THE MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

The mother rose. " My prayer I do recall. 

Take him. A single tear I will not shed. 
If by his living one poor soul might fall, 

I would a thousand times that he were dead. " 

The angel spoke : " A mother's love is true. 

I take your little one, but he will v/ait, 
Sinless and beautiful, to welcome you. 

When life is o'er, beside the jasper gate." 

And saying this, he vanished from the place, 
And as the mother knelt beside the bed, 

She kissed her httle infant's pallid face, 

And spoke : "I thank Thee, God, that he is 
dead." 



THE MASTERPIECE OF BROTHER FELIX. 

Two monks were in a cell at close of day — 
A cell that, too, the artist's craft portrayed. 

Dying upon a bed the younger lay, 

The older one beside him knelt and prayed. 

The older spoke: "Your end is very near — 
To see another day you cannot live; 

So banish thought of earth, my brother dear, 
And to your soul alone all thought now give." 

" Nay, Francis," said the other, " speak not so ; 
I cannot die, my life-work incomplete. 
Were that but finished, I would willing go — 

Then death would be a messenger most sweet." 

Then Francis spoke : "The world counts the success, 
■ But God Vi^ill judge by v.^hat you have essayed ; 



78 THE MASTERPIECE OE BROTHER FELIX. 

And though you fail, He will not deem the less 
The efforts and the struggles you have made. 

" The painter's earthly triumph is but brief — 
A passion-flower is fame, that soon dea ys; 
There is a jDoison in the laurel leaf, 

While green the wreath of heaven keeps always. 

And Felix answered: ''Brother Francis, so 
You dream I hanker after earthly fame. 

I sought for it one time— 'twas long ago — 
But now a holier, better meed I claim ; 

" And if grim Death were standing by the gate, 
A messenger v/ho brought the final call, 
I tell you, brother, that he still should wait 
Till I had done yon picture on the wall. 

" Nay, more — were I beside the golden throne, 
I would bend down at the Almighty's feet. 
And beg with tears : ' My life-work is not done — 
Let me return until it be complete.' 



THE MASTERPIECE OF BROTHER FELIX. 79 

" Of praying, therefore, speak not now to me — 
Or, if you pray, pray that I still may live 
Until my painting all completed be, 

That I to coming time the work may give." 

" God give you grace, my brother," Francis said, 
" Your heart submissive to His will to keep." 
And then he turned away, and silent prayed ; 
But soon, o'ercome with watching, fell asleep. 

Then from his bed to rise up Felix tried, 

But with the effort, faint and weak, fell back; 
Then, clasping hands imploringly, he cried : 
" O God of heaven, one little hour I lack 

" To work again upon my masterpiece. 

Till I the face divine have painted therej 
I care not then how soon ray life may cease. 

Kind God, one hour unto Thy servant spare ! 

" But death creeps fast ; too weak is now my hand 
To picture true the thought that fills my brain. 



So THE MASTERPIECE OF BROTHER FELIX. 

Send down an angel from the spirit-land, 

That I may not have dreamed such dream in 
vain ! " 

The cell door opened as he ceased to speak; 

A young man entered— tall he was and fair, 
The glow of youth was mantled on his cheek, 

His eyes were blue, and golden was his hair. 

"Why come you?" Felix questioned, "and your 
name?" 
The youth made answer : "I am Angelo, 
Who hearing of the Brother Felix's fame, 

Have come that I his wondrous art might know." 

Then Felix spoken " I am the man you seek; 

But I am dying, and have not the power 
To teach you aught. My heart and hand are weak, 

But you may aid me in this final hour. 

" Take yonder painting — set it on the stxmd 

Here at my bedside, full within my view — 



THE MASTERPIECE OF BROTHER FELIX. 8i 

Palette and pencils all are here at hand; 

Then paint, good youth, as I desire you to. 

"'Tis all complete except the Savior's face, 
And that upon the canvas faintly lined, 
But still so clear that you may plainly trace 
The features fair and God-hke, you will lind. 

" The face is somewhat of a Jewish cast — 

I sketched it from a beggar in the street. 
Ah, little dreamed I then, a few weeks past. 
Another hand my painting would complete !" 

Then spoke the youth : " A spirit sure has brought 
Me to your cell, to be, as 'twere, a hand 

Acting responsive to your every thought — 
Your faintest wish shall be as a command. 

"Speak, and I paint !" The dying Felix spoke 

A few words now and then — no need of much; 
The canvas into life and beauty woke 

Beneath the magic of the artist's touch. 



82 THE MASTERPIECE OF BROTHER FEllX, 

The youth at last his pencil laid aside, 

And spoke : " O master mine, your work is 
done; 
Can I assist you more?" The monk replied, 
" Go on your way and leave me here alone." 

The youth departed, and then Felix prayed : 

" I thank thee, God, and death is now most sweet, 
Since Thou its shaft a little while hast staid 
Until my masterpiece is all complete." 

Francis was woke up by the matin bell; 

He rose, and lo ! the light of early day 
Upon the painting of the Savior fell 

That on the easel all completed lay. 

In silence Francis by the painting stood; 

The features gleamed as with a love divine. 
From hands and feet transpierced gushed forth the 
blood, 

Twas perfect and complete in every line. 



THE MASTERPIECE OF BROTHER FELIX. 83 

" In truth," then Francis spoke, "no mortal hand 
Has limned the rapturous beauty of that face. 
Heaven surely heard his supplication, and 
An angel must have visited the place." 

To Felix turning : " Yes, the laurel crown 

Is yours, for you have reached art's proudest 
goal." 
Then, bursting into tears, he knelt him down ; 
" May God have mercy on the passing soul !" 



IN WAR TIME. 

On one side of the plain our army lay, 

Their leg-fires brightening as the gloom de- 
scended, 
While on the other side, a mile away 

The rebel camp into the night extended. 



Rough-bearded heroes of a hundred frays 

Were listening to a song a youth was singing; 

With wistful eyes they watched the leaping blaze, 
Dreamina: of scenes that son? to them was bring- 



" Kathleen Mavourneen" 'twas, a song of tears; 
A song by lovers sung about to sever ; 
And sadly thus went the refrain : " For years 
May be we part, and may be 'tis forever." 



IN WAR TIME. 85 

The sweet words seemed to never weary those 

. Who round the fire in pictured groups were seated, 
And many times 'twas sung, and at each close 
The saxl refrain was o'er and o'er repeated. 

To near, then distant fires, it passed along, 
Until at last, sad, solemn, and sonorous, 

From every camp-fire came that sweet love-song, 
And the whole Union Army sang the.,.chQrus. 

The camp was silent now the song was o'er. 
But all the soldiers stood in wonder, noting 

The self-same song that unto them once m.ore 

Upon the calm and still night air came floating, 

As if the angels bending from above — 

Upon the memories of earth still dwelling — 

Had listening been, and now that song of love 
Unto their God in Paradise were telling ! 

A moment thus the soldiers may have thought, 
Then whence it came they found with tears up 
springing ; 



86 IN- War time. 

The far-off Rebel troops the song had caught, 

And in their camp the tender words were singing. 

Our troops now sang, nor did the Rebels cease ; 

In unison the thousand voices blended 
Of hostile camps, and to the God of Peace 

That sojig of love upon the night aiicended. 



THE MIRAGE. 

An Arab, thinking that his death was nigh, 
Sank down beside his camel on the sand. 
When cleared away the mist-cloud, and a land 

Of beauty loomed upon his wondering eye — 

Green palms their frondage rearing broad and high, 
The ground beneath them with cool breezes fanned. 
While fragrant flowers were seen on every hand, 

And birds of song soared in the tranquil sky. 

But when to reach that land he did essay 
It faded like dream-picture, and before 

Him stretched the desert. Thus, when by life's way 
We sink, Hope limns bright views of scenes in 
store ; 

But when we almost grasp them they decay. 
And Hope her glov/ing pencil plies no more. 



THE POET. 

The poet, weary of his task one night, 

Tore up what he had writ and cast aside . 

His pen. Then bending in despair he cried : 
" My hope of fame is past — no more I write." 
When in a vision came unto his sight 

The jasper gate, and it was open wide; 

And lo ! he heard the angel choir inside, 
And spoke to him a spirit fair and bright : 
" Oh, treasure in your heart of hearts the strain, 

And when the time is ripe sing it again 
Unto the Ustening world, and you thereby 

Will win the poet's meed — a laurel crown, 

A people's love, and very great renown, 
And, when you die, a deathless memory." 



DUTY. 

A monk, while praying by the early light, 
The holy Nazarene of Calvary saw, 
And bending down in reverence and awe 

Gave thanks that to him came so fair a sight. 

But even as he spoke he heard the bell, 

Rung by some carl or beggar who did wait 
To gain admittance by the wayside gate ; 

And so he rose and straightway left his cell. 

And when by night he came some rest to gain 
The Blessed Visitant was still his guest. 
Who thus in loving words the monk addressed : 
"Yon have. done well; but if you did remain 

When bidden hence, I should have left the place, 
And you would never more have seen my face.'' 



